The Mind's Eye
by Raine Ito
Summary: At the beginning of her seventh year at wizard's school, Hermione begins experiencing awful headaches, and odd fainting spells. She attributes it to lack of sleep, but Severus Snape knows better, and recognizes the symptoms, and takes her under his tutela
1. Chapter One

Hermione woke up one morning, and decided she was going to die. There was a throbbing, pounding pain spreading through her temples, undoubtedly being her body's reaction to her recent late night study sessions. She had a sleep deficit of god-knows how many hours, and she was finally beginning to feel it. Rolling over with a groan, she buried her face in her pillow and pulled her covers up over her head, loathe to leave the comfort of her bed for the chilly, bustling hallways of Hogwarts school. It was entirely too cold for October, she decided. What was today's date? She couldn't remember. Easing her legs over the side of the bed, she sat up, and then promptly wished she hadn't. Gods, how her head HURT.  
  
  
She glanced at the calendar hanging slightly askew above her bed. Large red letters were blinking "Sunday, October 4," across the top of it. Good, at least she didn't have to go to class in this condition. She wasn't sure she'd make it all the way to Madam Pomfrey, and was very tempted just to crawl back into bed, until she noticed she was the only person left in the dorm room. Cursing herself silently, Hermione trudged over to her dresser, and pulled out a green sweater, and a long grey skirt, the muggle clothes she saved for weekends, the only time she was allowed to wear them during the school year. Grabbing a brush, she made a token effort to tame her wild hair, but gave up after a few minutes, and headed to the bathroom to clean up.  
  
In a few minutes she was out of the dorm, heading unsteadily down the stairs, gripping the railing in her attempts to stay upright. She was surprised to see Ron and Harry waiting for her when she arrived in the common room, which was otherwise empty. Everyone had apparently already left for breakfast. Ron was perched on the back of the sofa, swinging his long legs back and forth. Harry, sitting on the sofa itself behind Ron, stood up when Hermione came in, looking concerned.  
  
"'Morning, Hermione," he said, sounding concerned. Did she really look that bad, she wondered?   
  
"'Morning, Harry," she replied, flashing a quick smile. "Sleep well?"  
  
"Fine, thank you." He raised his eyebrows, and was about to say something when Ron cut in.  
  
"I slept awful. Harry snores," he said, hopping down from the couch and glaring at his friend.   
  
Harry looked surprised. "I don't snore," he insisted.  
  
Ron looked skeptical. "Well, you did last night. Either that, or you do a pretty good impression of it. Kept me up for hours." Turning to Hermione, he cocked his head. "'Ey, 'Mione, you look pretty awful. You all right?"  
  
Hermione was tempted to say that no, she was not all right at all, thank you very much, and would like it very much if she could go back to bed, but she refrained. "I'm just fine," she replied mildly. "A bit hungry. Have I missed breakfast?"  
  
"Nearly," Ron replied, grimacing. "We've been waiting for you."  
  
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "It was weird. You never sleep late. Are you sure you're all right?"   
  
Oh, thought Hermione, so that's what it was all about. A bit testily, she said, "What, I'm not allowed to sleep in now and then? I'm not superwoman." Then she felt guilty. "I haven't been getting much sleep lately, at all," she added with a sigh.  
  
"Bad dreams?" Harry asked, looking as if he could relate.   
  
"Nah," Ron said knowingly, nodding, "Late night studying, if I know our Hermione." When Hermione didn't answer, Ron looked smug. "Knew it," he said. Then, to Hermione, "It's gonna kill you, you know, all this work. Lighten up a bit!"  
  
"I can't," she said, her voice squeaking a little as she spoke. "This is our last year! Can you imagine failing seventh year? How embaressing that would be?"  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, "Lee Jordan re-took seventh year. He said it wasn't that bad. I'm kinda surprised Fred didn't have to, actually, with the way he and Angelina were fooling around so much. Wouldn't think he'd have any time to study."   
  
"Ech, Ron, that's disgusting," Hermione replied, wrinkling her nose. "Almost put me off my food. Not quite, though. Let's go, I'm starving."  
  
"Best idea you've had yet," Ron agreed amiably, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder and pulling him towards the door. "Let's go. I could eat a house elf, I'm so hungry."  
  
"RON!"  
  
"Only joking, Hermione."  
  
************  
  
After breakfast, Hermione, Harry, and Ron met Ginny and Dean on the quidditch pitch for some broomstick practice. Having finally made it on to the quidditch team this year, Ron was all to eager to show off his skill with a quaffle. Hermione sat on the benches and watched them as they looped and dove in the air, with Harry, as usual, far ahead of the others. They were just playing keep-away with the quaffle, as they couldn't really release either bludger or snitch without risk. So far, nothing had gotten by Ginny, who had been on the team for three years now, and was shaping up to be quite a fine player.   
  
Sometimes, idly, Hermione wished that she herself had bothered to obtain some broomstick expertise. She'd always been too busy with school work and studies to worry about the sport, but seeing them up there having so much fun made her wonder if she hadn't made a bad decision about all that. Sure, she could ride a broomstick all right, but if she tried to do anything but fly straight, she'd fall off. Harry had even tried to show her how to flip, once, but it had resulted in an entirely too prolonged stay with Madam Pomfrey, an experience she'd prefer not to repeat. Things standing as they were, she'd have to content herself with watching, and cheering on her friends. It wasn't so bad.   
  
Turning away for a minute, Hermione looked over at the Hogwarts building, where she'd lived (on and off) for six years. It would be very, very strange when it was all over. And, she realized abruptly, it would be over all too soon. This was her last year, her last hurrah with all those friends and aquaintances she'd made over all the time she'd spent here. But then, she told herself, practically, she'd see them all again. After all, most of them would be staying in England, and she'd end up working with some of them. It was a small world, the world of wizardry. So it wouldn't be goodbye.  
  
But saying goodbye to Hogwarts itself would be hard. She'd gotten so used to the routines, waking up in the morning, going to classes, meeting in the great hall for meals. She knew all the professors, now, and liked most of them well enough. There were of course, various exceptions to that, and there were definitely some professors she'd be happy to leave. Trelawney, for example, would not be much missed. And she couldn't think of anyone, save Draco Malfoy, who would miss Professor Snape. But altogether, Hermione wasn't too anxious for this year to end. Life would never be quite the same, no matter what bright new possibilities the future held for her.  
  
Lost in her own thoughts, Hermione had been staring, eyes unfocused, at a solitary broomstick that lay on the ground a few feet away. As she refocused, she noticed, to her mild shock, that the broom was floating several inches above the ground, when it had, moments before, been resting quite steadily on the earth. She blinked at it, then looked around, trying to determine who or what was levitating it. As she did so, she heard a small thump, and looked back, to see the broom sitting innocently on the ground again. Even as she puzzled over it, Hermione's headache returned abruptly, and she doubled over, clutching her head. She wanted to call out to Harry and the others, but she couldn't bring herself to exert the effort. As she blacked out, she couldn't help thinking that her studies couldn't be worth quite this much.  
  
************  
  
"It was the weirdest thing. One minute she was fine-and I know, because I saw her sitting there, looking just like normal-and then she was on the ground, holding her head."  
  
"Did you see what happened?"  
  
"Nothing happened, like Ron said! It was just like magic...oh."  
  
The voices around her roused Hermione, and she opened her eyes to find herself lying on her back on a cot, staring up at a white ceiling. Rolling on to her side, she looked around, and saw that she was indeed in the hospital wing. Next to her, Ron, Harry and Madam Pomfrey were engaged in heated conversation. Hermione propped herself up on one elbow and shook her head. She could do that, now, without pain. That was a good sign.  
  
"I'm feeling better, now, thanks. How long have I been here?"All three of them jumped, and Hermione looked sheepish. "Sorry...didn't mean to scare you."  
  
"That's all right," Harry said quickly, crossing behind the nurse, and resting a hand on Hermione's cot. "Feeling better?"   
  
"You scared us pretty bad," Ron added, when Hermione nodded. "We didn't know what to think. One minute you were up, and then you were down."  
  
"I heard." Slowly, Hermione sat straight up. When her friends protested, she smiled. "Thanks. I'm all right, now, though. Thanks, Madam Pomfrey. Can I go, now?"  
  
Madam Pomfrey looked skeptical. "Are you sure, dear? You were out cold when they brought you in here. You don't want to rest a bit?"  
  
Shaking her head, Hermione extracted herself from the blankets, and stood up. "I'm fine. I should've expected this. I haven't been sleeping enough, lately. It was going to get me eventually." Giving another reassuring smile, she grabbed Harry and Ron's arms, and steered them towards the door. "Thanks!" She called back over her shoulder as they vacated the room. Her last glimpse of Madam Pomfrey left the woman looking puzzled and worried, but she didn't try to stop them from leaving.  
  
As she and her friends walked down the hall towards the dorm, Hermione turned to Harry. "How'd I get to the infirmary?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "Dean carried you. Ron tried, but he kept complaining."  
  
Ron looked affronted. "Oi, what? I did no such thing. I was just worried about her, that's all, and I thought Dean might get her there faster."  
  
Harry's face stayed solemn, but his eyes danced. "Oh, so...when you said she was a bit heavy for you, you were just looking out for her own good, were you?"  
  
Hermione glared at Ron. "A bit HEAVY, am I?"  
  
Ron gulped. "Hey, I never...that is, I wouldn't...oh come on, Hermione!"  
  
As Hermione stared Ron down, Harry started to laugh. "Oh, stop it, Hermione, I made it up. I was only joking, leave off. Come on, now. Hermione, you feeling up to apparating? I thought we'd go over to Hogsmeade. Or we could just go the slow way."  
  
"No, I can," Hermione said, nodding. "It'd be nice to get out for a while."  
  
"Yeah, and my stash has run out. Gotta stock up," Ron added, grinning. "Maybe that's what's wrong with you, Hermione. You need some sweet stuff. It'll do you good, seeing as you're so sour all the time...waaah!"  
  
At Ron's last words, Hermione had tackled him. "Sour, am I? We'll see about that..."  
  
***********  
  
Severus Snape watched the Gryffindor trio's antics with mild disgust, as he crossed the hall towards the infirmary. He wouldn't be sorry to see them go this summer, especially not Potter. He'd put up with that boy long enough. What was worse, everyone else seemed to think that he was god's gift to the world. It made him sick, it really did. He considered stopping them, and telling them not to goof off in the halls, but by that time they were already too far behind him, and in all honesty, he didn't care enough about any of them to go all the way back just to reprimand them. If another teacher caught them, and they got in trouble, just as well. Someone would, undoubtedly. They made as much noise as a herd of frightened dragons. Sometimes Snape wondered what he was doing at a school. Children were very irritating creatures.   
  
The vials in his hand clinked together as he increased his pace, swinging open the infirmary doors with a bang, and startling Madam Pomfrey, causing her to drop the newt she'd been holding. Taking advantage of it's newfound freedom, the newt escaped under the bed.  
  
"I apologize," Snape murmured curtly. "I have the solutions you asked for, Poppy."  
  
"Yes, yes, thank you," Poppy said, nodding, and fluttering over to take the vials from him. She placed them on a high shelf in the wall, and then turned around. "Oh, yes, I can't thank you enough. It's been such a day, today, at least something's going right. I know I can always count on you, Severus."  
  
"Mmmm, yes, anytime." Snape was edging back towards the door. "I trust there's nothing else, so, if I may...?"  
  
"Hmmm?" Poppy stopped bustling around, and turned to look at him. "Oh, yes, yes, go ahead, don't let me keep you." Then, even as Snape turned to leave. "By any chance, did you see Miss Granger in the hall on the way here?"  
  
With a sigh, Snape turned around again. "Yes, actually. She and Potter and Weasley, inseperable as every."  
  
Chuckling, Poppy nodded. "Yes, yes, you'd think they were joined at the hip, the way they're so close. It's lovely really, seeing such friendships flourishing." Then, abruptly, her tone became more businesslike. "But Severus, when you saw Hermione, did she look...odd, at all? Did she look all right, I mean?"  
  
"Oh yes," Snape said, sarcastically. "She was jumping around, running in the halls, breaking all the rules that she should know QUITE well, by now, being a seventh year, and a prefect. Quite embarressing, really." He was surprised when Poppy smiled.  
  
"Oh, GOOD," she said, sounding relieved. "You'd never believe, it was the oddest thing, Severus. Said she'd been having headaches all morning. Blacked out today, on the quidditch pitch. Mr. Weasley said she'd been just fine the moment before, and then 'suddenly, she was on the ground.' And I didn't detect any magic...there was no spell, no one playing a trick on her...she just fainted. Rather strange if you ask me. And then, when she woke up, she was just fine. Must remember to keep an eye on that girl, if I can..."  
  
Severus stared, while Poppy kept mumbling distractedly to herself. It sounded a great deal like the symptoms of...but, no. That seemed extremely unlikely, especially for Granger. Yet...she was a rather bright girl, he had to admit. Almost frustratingly bright. Come to think of it, she was the type he'd usually watch, in case she did show the signs...but, a Gryffindor? That was unfortunate. But then, he wasn't sure of anything yet. Jumping to false conclusions wasn't something he was fond of, so Snape broke his train of thought, nodded curtly to Poppy, and swept out of the room.  
  
Still, Poppy had been right. They would have to watch that Granger girl.   
  
Striding quickly, Snape started down the staircase towards the dungeons, thinking to himself. Granger wasn't the only person who was having unusual aches. Unconciously, Snape rubbed at his arm. No, it wouldn't be long now before all hell broke loose. He knew the signs. They'd been plain enough, for the past three years. The Dark Lord had been biding his time long enough. Dumbledore knew it. Anyone with sense knew it, although, in all honesty, there weren't that many around here that would be willing to admit it to themselves. He wondered briefly, if they all expected the Potter boy to save them. Probably. Snape wasn't sure what to think of that, except that it was highly unlikely. The boy had gotten out of several close scrapes, granted, but not without help. He was everyone's hero, now, but he had no idea, no possible inkling of the true power that they would ask him to face. No, the boy was useless, just that, a boy, a child. He was that James Potter's son. Snape scowled in disgust.  
  
James Potter had always been the hero. That was just the way he was. He was the class clown, him and his foolish friends, and everyone had loved him. Everyone had expected him to win when he played, had laughed when he told his jokes, had loved him, just because. Snape hated that. Potter had once had power, because of the trust people invested in him. Then he died, in his house, stupidly trying to defend his wife. He'd always been stupid. Hadn't he realized she was going to die, anyway? Hadn't he realized he couldn't save her? That had irked Snape the most about the whole thing. James Potter had always wanted to be the hero. And those kinds always lost in the end. He'd needed to prove himself too badly. And Harry was exactly the same way. He'd need all the help he could get.  
  
Snapping his thoughts back to the present task, Snape realized he'd reached the potions dungeon. He decided to stop thinking about the war, for a minute. It wasn't the time, now, to be distracted by such things. The students had to be prepared, and that was why he tought here, after all. That was why he slaved away through thick-headed, idiot children all day. He looked for the intelligent ones, the ones who could make a difference, the ones who were smart enough not to be the heros, but to be the victors, the ones who could make a difference. That was his purpose here. And that, after all, was all he dared do.   
  
His arm hurt. He ignored it. Leave me alone, he willed it. Just leave me alone. I don't need you anymore.  
  
**********  
  
Seated at a corner table in the Three Broomsticks, Hermione was enjoying herself immensely. It was the first time she and her friends had gotten a chance to get out to Hogsmeade since the beginning of the school year, and she'd missed these carefree trips. Over the summer, she'd missed Harry and Ron a great deal, as she hadn't gotten to see either of them since the year before. Ron had been visiting his aunt Bernice all summer, and Harry...well, it wasn't his fault he lived with the Dursleys.   
  
They'd all stuffed their pockets with every kind of candy, and then went over to Zonko's, where, not surprisingly, they'd run into Seamus and Dean, arm in arm with Parvati and Ginny. Now all seven of them were laughing together over pints of butterbeer. Life was good. In fact, Hermione couldn't remember life being better. Here she was, surrounded by the people she loved, talking about old times and thinking about the future. Actually, the future part scared her a bit. Everyone seemed to know what they wanted to do with their lives, except for her. At first, she'd thought about making an attempt at being a professor, but she didn't like the idea of being secluded up in Hogwarts school, when everyone else was leaving. Then she'd thought about a Ministry job, but Ron had quickly persuaded her against that.  
  
"Ministry's going to hell, with Fudge in charge," he assured her. "Dad's got it bad, trying to keep the muggle stuff under control. Especially with all the new...goings on." Ron had stopped there, and Hermione didn't blame him. No one really wanted to talk about what they all knew was coming, the dark rebellion that had been building up for years. Even now, she turned her mind away from it. She oughtent to ruin a good day with that kind of thinking.  
  
"Hey, Hermione." Harry leaned over to speak to her, snapping her out of her reverie. "Feeling all right?"  
  
Nodding, Hermione smiled. "Just fine, Harry, thanks. The headache's all gone."  
  
Harry grinned back. "Good. Gods, Hermione, you really freaked us out today."  
  
Hermione shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry...it certainly wasn't intentional."  
  
"No, no, certainly not," Harry agreed with a short laugh. "Just...if you get...headaches, again, let us know, all right?"  
  
Hermione's smile faded, and she raised her eyebrows. "Harry, why are you so worried about it? It wasn't anything horribly unusual...just lack of sleep, that's all."  
  
Now it was Harry's turn to shrug. "Dunno, it's just...something feels weird about it." Then he shook his head, smiling again. "I'm just paranoid. Ignore me. But tell me if you feel badly."  
  
"Well, that makes a lot of sense." Hermione touched his shoulder. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine. You're letting it ruin your day."  
  
Harry looked like he was going to answer, but Dean poked him, forestalling him. "'Ey," he said, looking worried. "Isn't that Malfoy?" He jerked his head at a blond-haired boy, standing near the counter with his back to them. Sure enough, as they watched, Malfoy turned, looked at them, and sneered. Then, surprisingly enough, he left the counter, and started over to where they were sitting. Hermione groaned. A visit from Draco Malfoy was never an enjoyable experience.   
  
"Hey, Granger," he said, sidling over to her and grinning in that irritating, smug little way that he did. "I hear you had a little fainting spell today. Can't keep all those books in your head at once? Hmmm, such a shame. You must be losing your touch."  
  
Hermione ignored him, but Ron was not so careful. "Shut up, Malfoy," he grated. "What do you want, anyway? If you're just going to irritate Hermione, why don't you bugger off?"  
  
Draco shook his head, and looked back over at Hermione. "What, Granger, can't stand up for yourself? Or are you just afraid I'm right?"  
  
"No worries about that," Harry said, quietly. "It's a pretty rare occurance."  
  
"It'd be pretty bad if I am right, wouldn't it? Not like you're going to get ahead in life without your brains. Too ugly to be worth anything for looks. And not very good with people. That reminds me, we're looking for a new maid, if you need a steady job after school ends."   
  
Hermione looked straight at Malfoy, trying to determine what it was he wanted. The look in his eyes was plain. He was looking for a fight. Why, she didn't know, but he wanted her to react. Well, she wouldn't. But it looked like Ron was going to, if she didn't step in.  
  
Unfortunately she didn't have a chance. "Oh, I forgot," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "You can't work at our place. We'd be better off with a house elf. You're a mudblood, after all."  
  
Ron had clearly had enough. Roaring, he got to his feet and dove off the bench, throwing a punch right at Malfoy's smirking face. Malfoy dodged, and landed his foot right in Ron's gut, knocking the wind out of the boy and sending him hurtling to the ground.   
  
Hermione gasped, and then, furious, rose to her feet. And all of a sudden, all of the glasses on the tables shattered.   
  
People screamed, as shards of glass flew everywhere, from all angles. Hermione felt herself pulled down by a strong hand, and then heard Malfoy's startled shriek of pain. Looking up, she saw him cradling his hand, which was bleeding profusely in two places. Below him, Harry was helping a still winded Ron to his feet. He was bleeding too, from his arm, and, turning around, Hermione could see that Parvati was crying.   
  
"Harry, what-?" Hermione began to ask, but Seamus' hand on her shoulder forestalled her.   
  
"Let's go," he said. "Talk later."  
  
Then she was ushered out of the Three Broomsticks, along with the chattering, crying, whispering crowd that milled out all around her. She was so confused. What had happened? All she knew was one moment, Ron and Draco were fighting, and then all of a sudden, everything had exploded. Had Draco had something in his pocket? Had he cast a spell? Was he trying to make it look like they caused the explosion? She didn't know, but when she turned around to grab Draco and make him answer, he was already gone.  
  
**********  
  
When Draco Malfoy returned to Slytherin House, later that day, Snape was sitting in the common room, staring into the fire.  
  
"Professor!" Draco called, excitedly. Snape did not respond, at first, lost in thought. "Um...Professor?" Draco tried again.   
  
Snape turned around, shaking his head, as if to clear it. "What?" He asked, sharply. "What do you want?"  
  
"Professor Snape, sir," Malfoy said, breathlessly, "Potter and his friends were at the Three Broomsticks, and they tried to kill me!"  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. Not this again. Although it was quite likely that Potter had done something extremely stupid, Snape was sure that the intent had not been to kill Draco Malfoy. Although, it wouldn't have been so horrible if he'd succeeded, whether intentionally or not. At this point, even Snape would look the other way. "Apparently," Snape said dryly, standing up and facing the boy, "He failed. You seem quite living to me. What exactly is the problem, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
Malfoy was all to eager to tell him. "Weasley attacked me, sir, and then all of a sudden, just like that, all the glassware exploded. All of it! I think it was the Granger girl, sir. I think she got mad, and cast a spell, so that they could get away, and no one would know they were fighting." He looked disgustingly smug. "You know how that girl hates to get caught doing anything wrong, and they were fighting, and all, so she cast a spell-!"  
  
"Did you see her cast the spell, Draco?" Snape asked, boredly. "If you have no proof, then do not waste my time." There was a time, thought Snape idly to himself, when I would have acted on even a peep from this little annoyance. But not anymore. Over the past three years, Draco's little problems with the Potter boy had irritated him to no end. Now, he mostly ignored them. Now, there were more important things.   
  
"No, sir," Draco said, only mildly put off by his Professor's lack of interest. "But she looked so angry, and then it happened just like that...it couldn't have been anything else! And look!" He waved his hand in front of Snape's face, revealing the bandages that Madam Pomfrey had given him. "It was awful, sir. The whole hand was bleeding..."  
  
"And that would explain why only two fingers are bandaged, would it?" Snape dismissed that with a wave of his hand. Something else in Malfoy's story had intrigued him. "Tell me EXACTLY what happened, Malfoy. No exaggeration."  
  
Malfoy nodded, the picture of innocence. Snape knew better. Much better. "So," Malfoy began. "We were in the Three Broomsticks, and they were all sitting at a table-"  
  
"Who?"  
  
Malfoy shrugged. "Potter, Granger, Weasley...some others, I don't remember. Weasley's little sister, I think. Anyway, I went over to say hello, and Weasley just launched himself at me! Right off the bench! So I got him in the stomach, because I had to defend myself, of course." He looked at his Professor for support.   
  
Snape waved his fingers boredly. "Yes, yes, of course. Go on."  
  
Malfoy nodded, encouraged. "Right, so, I knocked Weasley down, and then Granger stood up, looking like she was gonna throw a fit, and then all of a sudden everything...shattered!" He clapped his hands together for emphasis. "Just like that! And they got my hand-!"  
  
"Yes," Snape said curtly, "cutting him off. Well, this will have to be dealt with, of course, Mr. Malfoy." Snape's mind was racing. "Run along, now...yes, this will have to be dealt with. Thank you."  
  
He left the room before Malfoy could say anything, rapidly storming down the hall. From what Malfoy had just said, it sounded like his suspicions about Miss Granger had been correct. He almost wished he hadn't been, he didn't relish the idea of telling the other Professors about this new development.   
  
So he wouldn't. Instead, he decided suddenly, stopping in his tracks, he would pay a visit to Miss Granger herself. Before the others could get to her. Because, just maybe, if she was as smart as she seemed, she could be useful. Incredibly useful, despite her muggle blood. Just maybe. It was worth a try. 


	2. Chapter Two

Hermione looked up from "Potent Poisons, A to Z," and glanced out the window of her room. The sky was pitch black, with only a few stars out, and the moon wasn't visible from where she was. It was so late...but she couldn't sleep. Oh, she wanted to, very much indeed, but she simply couldn't seem to doze off, no matter how hard she tried. It was getting cold in here, too, and she shivered even underneath her blankets. Perhaps that's what it was that was keeping her awake, but she didn't know. She had to get some rest, lest she doze off in class. Gods, how embaressing that would be. Perhaps if she was just a bit warmer...  
  
Quietly, so as not to wake the other girls, Hermione got out of bed, rearranged her rumpled nightgown around her ankles, and pulled her blanket around her shoulders. She crossed the room, and slowly opened the door, cringing as it creaked on its hinges. Easing it shut behind her, she walked briskly across the hall and down the stairs, her bare feet padding down the red and gold carpeting as she headed for the common room. The fire was burning merrily when she reached it, and it was an incredible relief to feel the warmth flooding her as she strode over to stand in front of it, holding out her palms to take in its heat. Perhaps, she thought, she could just curl up here, on the sofa, and close her eyes. Then, maybe she could finally go to sleep.  
  
"Miss Granger." The deep voice startled Hermione, causing her to let out a little shriek and whirl around. As soon as it left her throat, the shriek was stopped, freezing her throat as if a hand had clamped down upon it.   
  
"Quiet, please." Severus Snape said lazily, standing in front of her, leaning against a large red armchair. "I'd rather you didn't alert the entire Gryffindor house to my presence." Hermione just looked at him, eyes wide, until he nodded. A flick of his wand sent the warmth and feeling returning to her throat, and she gasped, spluttering, while Snape looked on in amusement. "If you're quite finished with the dramatics?" He asked, a sneer in his voice.   
  
Hermione closed her mouth abruptly, a bit stung. "P-professor," she said, trying to regain herself, "How are...that is to say, what...I mean, you're not supposed to be here, are you?" That really hadn't come out the way it was supposed to, she thought, frustrated. She sounded like a stupid first year. What had he snuck up on her like that for? And in her own common room, no less!  
  
Snape gave her a very dry look. "As far as I know, Miss Granger, you are in no position to tell me where I am and am not allowed to be in this school, unless something his changed that I am not aware of." Again, he watched her, as her face reddened with irritation and embarressment. Then, abruptly, his tone turned harsh. "I didn't come here to bandy words. Follow me." He pulled his cloak around him and headed towards the door. Hermione just watched him, temporarily dumbfounded. Turning around, Snape glared at her, raising his eyebrows. "Well? Are you coming?"  
  
Hermione had half a mind to say that no, in fact, she wasn't coming at all, and what was he doing in Gryffindor house anyway, but she decided not to. Reluctantly, she tiptoed after him, marveling inwardly at the way he managed to walk without making any noise at all. Perhaps it was a spell. If so, she ought to look into it, as it would no doubt be useful. Or perhaps not, as it would likely give Harry and Ron even more opportunities to sneak out at night.   
  
"You're probably wondering," Snape began, in that low, silky voice of his, "what it is you're in trouble for. I might as well warn you to save your confessions, guilty, undoubtedly, as your conscience is. You are not, at present, about to be sent to the headmaster." He took a quick breath before going on, giving Hermione no time to respond. "You are a naturally intelligent girl, Miss Granger, if lacking a great deal in common sense and subtlety. You are, no doubt, aware of the impending danger that has been building since your first year at this school." He stopped suddenly, causing her to skid backwards in her efforts to stop with him, and turned to look at her. When she nodded, he started walking again.   
  
"At this point in time, we need every person with talent, every person with potential, every person who might possibly be worth something to our cause. Despite your own confrontations with him, you really have very little idea of what the Dark Lord is truly capable of." Hermione saw him shudder at that, and that scared her. What could possibly make Severus Snape afraid? But then the contempt in his voice returned, as usual. "But what we need most is those few people who have power, special power, power that can be trained, and used in our favor. Our...secret weapons, if you will." His tone made it clear that the term didn't agree with him. "Do you understand?"  
  
Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. I mean...I do, sir, but I don't understand what this has to do with me."  
  
Snape stopped again, and blinked. Hermione wished she could see his expression in the dark. "Perhaps you're thicker than I thought you were, Granger." He paused, as if thinking, and then came closer to her, looming over her. "You haven't been sleeping lately, have you?"  
  
Hermione nodded, at this point unable to do anything else. How did he know all this? What was the point? Was he just trying to scare her?  
  
"Right," Snape said, and now it was his turn to nod. "Odd headaches, and such? Sudden, unexplained fainting spells?" He didn't wait for her response this time, nodding to himself, as if already knowing her answer. "Oh, and that lovely little incident yesterday...didn't you wonder who broke the glass?"  
  
"I...I thought it was Malfoy, sir," she said, summoning her voice again. "He picked a fight with Ron, and..." she trailed off, remembering who she was speaking to. There was no point. If he knew, then she, and Harry and Ron were already busted, and Severus Snape didn't care who had started it, especially if the instigator was a Slytherin.   
  
Snape started walking again. "I have already said," he said, a bit testily, "You are not in trouble. Whether or not you deserve to be, I really don't care. That's not what you're here for. I could just have easily dragged you over to Professor Dumbledore in the morning. I'm beginning to wonder, actually, if I'm just wasting my time."  
  
Hermione was starting to get quite fed up with the whole mystery. "Perhaps it would help, sir," she said, very quietly, "If you told me what it is I'm here for."  
  
She was half expecting him to turn on her, angry, but oddly enough, he didn't. "Very well," he grated, and then expelled a long breath. "You've been showing signs, Hermione. Signs of power, of the power I spoke of. I personally wouldn't have expected it in a muggle born like yourself. As far as I know," and he sounded a tiny bit unsure, "It has always been hereditary. That is why I brought you here. You need to be tested. And I'd rather that the entire school did not find out, which is why I grabbed you in the middle of the night."  
  
"Sir..." Hermione shook her head, still frustrated. "I don't understand, honestly I don't. What power do you mean?"  
  
By this point, they had reached the Potions' classroom, and Snape swung the door open. "I suppose I'll have to show you," he said, sounding bored. "Inside, Miss Granger. Go on."  
  
**********  
  
Hermione wasn't the only one getting irritated. Snape had found it very difficult to convince the Fat Lady that guarded Gryffindor to allow him passage into the common room, and was feeling testy because of it. He wasn't at all sure, now, that it had been worth it. The girl just looked at him with those big eyes of hers, and refused to understand what he was hinting rather obviously to her. Hadn't she read the books? She supposedly did a great deal of reading. Surely she would recognize the signs.   
  
But then again, perhaps she wouldn't. She was, after all, only a child.   
  
"Sit," he instructed her, gesturing at one of the front-row desks. Hermione sat. Snape opened a drawer, shuffling around in it for a few minutes, before finding what he was looking for. He extracted a small jar from amongst the various vials, tubes, and pouches, and placed it on the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione craning her neck to see what it was, and smiled. At least he had her interest.   
  
Picking up the jar, he walked over to the cauldron by his desk, which was filled with hot water. He upended the jar, and unscrewed the top, shaking the contents out into the water. A large, rather gratifying puff of smoke erupted from the cauldron, and then settled again. Hermione blinked. Grabbing a vial off a shelf, Snape dipped it in the cauldron, and came out with a brownish, steaming liquid. He placed the vial on Hermione's desk, and nodded at her. She looked at it with suspicion.  
  
"Drink it," he said firmly. Hermione looked up at him, pleadingly.  
  
"Please sir, what...what is it?" She looked nervous, and he supposed, with a deep sigh, that she half expected him to poison her.   
  
"Miss Granger," he said, attempting patience, "It is perfectly safe, I assure you. Now, are you going to waste any more of my time, and yours, or are you going to do what I say?" He watched, drumming his fingers on his desk, as Hermione reluctantly lifted the brown liquid to her face, eyeing it skeptically. She shot him a quick look, and he returned it, eyebrows raised expectantly. Then she sucked in a breath, let it out again, and put the vial to her lips, carefully tilting it backwards so that a few drops fell into her mouth. That wouldn't do, Snape thought.   
  
He was beside her in a moment, before she had a chance to put the vial down. Bracing one hand against the desk, he grasped the vial in his other and pressed her head back, tilting it back even farther, so that all the liquid slid down her throught. She started to cough, startled, but it soon subsided. When she looked up, there was fear in her eyes. She didn't trust him one little bit, Snape realized. He was the enemy, as far as she was concerned. That was good, he decided. One couldn't be too careful, and she seemed to have realized that, at least to some extent.   
  
As he watched, waiting, Hermione's face sagged, and her eyelids began to droop. She was clearly struggling to stay concious, but it was obvious she would lose in a few minutes. "What..." she gasped. "Professor...it HURTS." Snape smiled at that.   
  
"Good, good," he said, nodding. "Sadistic as that may seem," he added, "It should hurt. Close your eyes." Hermione was all too eager to obey that request, at least. "Now...do you see anything?"  
  
"What...see? Professor, my...eyes are clos-Oh!" She rocked back in her chair with sudden force, and then abruptly collapsed, sprawling forward across her desk. Snape's smile faded. Well, it wasn't in question, now. She obviously had the beginnings of the Curse, but she seemed to have very little strength against it's side effects. As it was, she was useless, unable to use it without fainting.   
  
Was this really just a waste of time?  
  
**********  
  
Conciousness hit Hermione with a bang, and her eyes flew open. Her mouth flew open as well, but no sound came out, as she suddenly found it very hard to breathe. After a few moments, when her normal breathing patterns had returned, she risked sitting up, slowly, and looking around.  
  
She was in the dungeon that they used for a potions classroom. What on earth was she doing here? She couldn't remember anything. Maybe this was some nightmare. If it was a nightmare, she reasoned, it meant she was asleep, and if she was asleep, all she had to do was open her eyes. Except...they were open, already. Closing them tightly, she whispered to herself, willing herself out of the dream. "Time to wake UP, Hermione," she said, firmly, and opened her eyes.   
  
She was still in the dungeon.   
  
A low chuckle came from the other end of the room. "I assure you, Miss Granger, you're very much awake. How does your head feel?"  
  
Hermione turned around, and stared at Severus Snape, who was seated in a chair in the far corner of the room, legs crossed, cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. "How did I get here?" She asked, rubbing her head. It still throbbed a little.  
  
"You don't remember?" Snape frowned. "It should come back to you, unless I've rattled your brains around more than I intended."   
  
Hermione thought...and then it did, indeed, come rushing back to her. She groaned, and lay back in the chair, then looked across at Snape, shocked. "You mean...that was SUPPOSED to happen?"   
  
Snape shrugged, rearranging his long legs and settling himself. "More or less. It wasn't, granted, supposed to happen so very soon...but it was expected, yes. I ask again, how does your head feel?"  
  
Hermione frowned. "It still hurts," she replied, "But not like it did at first...god, it felt like someone had plunged a sword right through my forehead...now it just...pounds a little." She was quite shaken, and desperately wished she'd never come down to this place. She was so very confused.  
  
Snape must have seen some of that on her face, because he nodded, stood up, and crossed over to her. "Well, I suppose I ought to explain myself, oughtent I?" Hermione was about to say that, yes, that would probably be considered fair, after what he'd put her through, but he didn't give her the chance. "I brought you down here, because I think you have the Curse."   
  
Hermione blinked. "A curse?" She asked, feeling stupid.  
  
Snape shook his head. "No, Miss Granger, not a curse, but the Curse." He waited a moment, seeing if she followed him, and when it was obvious that she didn't, he began to elaborate. "The Curse...well, that's not even an appropriate name for it, but it's what wizards and witches have been calling it for centuries now. It makes it sound like some sort of disease." He shook his head, scowling.   
  
"The Curse is , actually, a rare magical gift, that very few people have. It is the power that we spoke of earlier."  
  
"You spoke of," Hermione corrected him, too tired and confused to be tactful. Snape ignored the comment.   
  
"It is a gift of the mind, of mental powers and mental strengths, that, when trained, can be incredibly useful." He stopped, and Hermione sat quietly, allowing it to soak through her brain. "You, Miss Granger," Snape continued, "Have already experienced at least one incident of influence by the Curse. Do you recall when, at Hogsmeade, you broke the glasses in the Three Broomsticks?"  
  
"I...I did that?" Hermione's head swam. "But...how do you know?"  
  
Snape dismissed her question with a wave. "How I know is completley irrelevant. What's important is that you did it. You proved that you could do it. Properly trained, Miss Granger, you wouldn't need a wand ever again." He smiled, leaning in closer, causing her to squeeze back in her chair, nervously. "All you'd have to do was think about what you wanted, and it would be done. You can lift objects, you can remove things, and create things, and do so many, many things...with nothing but what's here." He tapped his forehead with a long-nailed forefinger.  
  
"But..." Hermione was nagged by something. "Why do they call it 'the Curse?'"  
  
Snape nodded, as if approving her question. "You've experienced that, as well. The Curse is extremely taxing on the mind. Those headaches you've been having? Have you noticed them building, at all, in intensity, since they began?"  
  
In all honesty, Hermione realized, she hadn't really thought about it. But now that she was..."A bit," she admitted. "Maybe...a little...yes, I think so. Yes."  
  
Snape seemed even more pleased with that. "Yes, you see? It is the Curse, because the more you do, the more it takes away. Many who have tried it have gone too far, too fast. Often, those who do so have died from the effects." Well, thought Hermione, he certainly wasn't trying to reassure her. He was being brutally honest, in fact, so much so that it scared her. What did he want from her?  
  
"How are you sure?" She asked. "I mean, how are you sure that I have this...Curse?"  
  
Snape gestured at the empty vial on the desk in front of Hermione. "That drought I gave you was supposed to increase the effects, to give us some sign of exactly how much power you have. I was hoping for a demonstration, but apparently the effect was too much. With a bit of training, that will change."   
  
Hermione swallowed. "And...I suppose you expect me to undergo this training? This training, that, as you've said, is potentially life threatening?" Taking a deep breath, she steadied her voice. "Can I ask why you care about all this?"  
  
Snape shook his head, turning away from her towards the window. "I've already told you," he said. "I won't lie to you, Miss Granger. The war is coming. You know it, you've seen it. Your little friend Potter knows it, too. As far as everyone's concerned, he's the hero of this story, he's their hope, the one who will defeat the Dark Lord." Snape's frown returned. "But Potter isn't prepared. He knows too little of the true danger he'll be facing. What's more, I know he'll take responsibility, even if he knows he won't win. His father was the same way. Always doing what was expected of him. Stupid." The frown deepened. "He'll need all the help he can get, if he's anything like his father."  
  
"Harry can do it," Hermione said, straightening her back with pride. "Harry's beaten him three times, already. Harry is the one who can do it. He's the one who survived. He's the boy who lived."  
  
"Oh, yes," Snape said, sarcastically, with a sneer. "I can just picture it now. Eighteen year old Potter, fresh out of school, up against the most powerful wizard the world has ever known, at full strength, no doubt, after all these years. Seems a little unfair, doesn't it?" Suddenly, his tone changed dramatically, and Hermione thought she could detect...well, she thought she heard a note of fear in his voice. But that couldn't be.   
  
"We're going to win this, Granger," Snape grated, his breath coming hard. She saw his hand clutch convulsively at his arm. "I can't go back there," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "I won't ever go back there."  
  
  
As abruptly as it had before, Snape's tone changed, back to its normal, silky, contemptuous drawl. "We're going to win," he said again. "But only with help. Don't you want to help Potter, Granger?" His sneer returned. "Don't you want to save his life? You'd be the hero, then. You'd be the one with the glory!" When Hermione didn't respond, he shrugged. "Or, perhaps not. Perhaps little Harry can do it on his own. Or perhaps, one morning, you'll find him dead in his chambers, and then what will you do? The killing curse is silent, Hermione, and it isn't a difficult one. We all know how badly the Dark Lord wants a second chance at Harry Potter. What will happen then, when it's too late, and you can't save him, because you're too weak? What will happen then, to the world, when Harry's lying in his coffin, six feet under. They'll write sweet words on his grave, but it won't save-!"  
  
"Stop it!" Hermione shouted, shaking her head from side to side. Even as she said it, the vial on the desk exploded. Snape smiled.  
  
"You see?" He asked, simply. Slowly, reluctantly, Hermione nodded.  
  
"For Harry, though," she murmured, almost to herself. "Just for Harry."  
  
Snape shrugged. "For whatever you want," he said. "But you're taking a big risk, Granger, you need to know that. Agreeing to this is a very large risk. You might never-!"  
  
"I thought," Hermione said, cutting him off, "That you were trying to convince me. Now you're trying to talk me out of it?" It was good to see the frustration in his face then, as he tried to keep his patience.   
  
"I'm only warning you," he snapped. "But that's it, I'm done. I'll meet you here at 3 o'clock exactly, tomorrow. Don't be late." With that, he turned away, leaving Hermione to wobble to the door on her own. Even as she got there, though, he called out to her. "Wait!" She stopped and turned around, to see Snape holding out yet another vial, this one filled with purple liquid.   
  
"Take this," he said, curtly. "It's a sleeping draught. You'll need your rest, now."  
  
Hermione left, holding the potion, her mind racing, too preoccupied to be tired anymore.  
  
**********  
  
The next morning, Hermione pulled Harry and Ron aside. "I need to talk to you," she told them urgently, dragging them into a corner of the common room. "It's awfully important."  
  
"It had better be," Ron said testily, watching unhappily as the other students filed out towards teh Great Hall for breakfast. "You sure it can't wait? I'm famished."  
  
"You're always hungry," Harry said, sounding disgusted. He nodded at Hermione. "What's up? Is everything all right."  
  
"Everything," Hermione said, with feeling, "Is most certainly not all right." And she told them. In the end, she wasn't entirely sure why she told them, except that she desperately needed someone to talk to about it, and, as they were her best friends, and were around her the most, they ought to know such things about her. It only seemed right. She carefully left out the part about the Dark Lord, and Harry's inevitable confrontation. When she was finished, Ron and Harry could do nothing but stare.  
  
"And you believe this git?" Ron finally asked, sounding incredulous.   
  
"Why shouldn't I?" Hermione asked, a bit defensive. "Why on earth would he want to lie to me about something like that?"  
  
"Oi, 'Mione, it's SNAPE we're talking about here!" Ron sounded disgusted. "We don't know why he does what he does. It smells odd to me."  
  
"That'd be the socks you've been wearing for three days," Harry corrected him. "Personally, I agree with Hermione, but...it's still odd."  
  
"And scary," Ron said, nodding, "If it is true."  
  
"So...you're supposed to do some sort of training, or something?" Harry asked, sounding worried. "With...Snape?" Hermione nodded, and Harry shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Lord, Hermione...be careful, will you? Maybe we should go with you."  
  
Hermione was very tempted to agree to that, but she shook her head, deciding against it. "No, Harry...that's not a good idea. If what Snape says is true, I'm dangerous until I get this worked out. I don't want something happening to you while I'm testing myself. I break things," she added, sheepishly. "In all honesty, you probably should stay away from me altogether." She almost choked on that last bit. It wasn't what she wanted, but, if it would keep them safe...just until she finished training, that is...  
  
Ron broke into her thoughts with a snort. "Yeah, right," he said airily, throwing a companionable arm around her shoulders. "We're staying right here, whether you like it or not."  
  
"Ron's right," Harry agreed, more solemnly. "You're our best friend, Hermione."  
  
"Besides," Ron said, "We can protect ourselves, can't we? We're seventh year wizards, now. We can deal with little things like breaking glass. Besides, who'll help you when you faint? Who'll carry you back to the dorm, eh?"  
  
"Not you," Hermione said, with a grin. "Too heavy, remember?"  
  
As Ron began to protest, Hermione started to laugh. 


	3. Chapter Three

A while later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione retreated to the library, hoping to answer some of the many questions that had been running through Hermione's head all morning. Unfortunately, once they got there, none of them really had any idea where to look. They tried "Magical Maladies", which had nothing about the Curse, but then, it wasn't really a 'malady' of any sort. Snape had said it was more of a power, mostly hereditary. But then, how could it possibly be hereditary, if Hermione was a muggle-born? And she knew that she was, was absolutely positive that no one in her family had any even minute piece of wizard blood. Wasn't she?  
  
They toiled through "Capable Curses," and "Telekinesis for Dummies," without success. The former discussed only normal curses, not the particular Curse that she was looking for. The latter was all about how to use wands, spells, and tricks to create the illusion of mental magic. After several similar attempts were made with the same result, Ron finally turned around, and threw up his hands.  
  
"Hermione, don't be mad or anything, but we don't have the foggiest what we're looking for!" He sounded very irritated.  
  
"He's right, you know," Harry agreed, closing a book with a clap, and a puff of dust. "I mean, it would be easier if we knew how to start." Stepping around one of the tables, he walked over to Hermione, and shook his head. "I'm hoping Snape will tell you more about this...this Curse, today. Then we can come back. As it is, though, it could be anywhere."   
  
"Remember Nicholas Flamel?" Ron asked, grinning.   
  
Hermione remembered him all too well, and made a face. Harry chuckled. "Yeah, it's the same type of thing. It'll be in the last place we look, I bet." He shrugged off his obvious frustration, and clasped Hermione's shoulder. "So let's go do something. We've got time to kill."  
  
Hermione was very put off by her failure to learn anything whatsoever, and didn't feel like doing anything except going back to bed. Harry was so convincing though, with that big-eyed, sympathetic look of his, and she eventually nodded, smiling despite herself. They probably didn't want to be here, after all, and were just helping her out. It was their free time, and she was taking it away. The least she could do was let them have some fun.   
  
They walked down the lake, and lay on their stomachs in the grass. Ron broke out the cards, and they played a few rounds of exploding snap, before casting the cards aside and rolling over to watch the clouds roll by.   
  
"This is my last year with the Dursleys," Harry said, closing his eyes as a cool breeze blew by, ruffling their hair. "Can't say I'm too unhappy about it."  
  
Ron snorted. "Don't know how you put up with it for so long. I wouldn't have."  
  
Chuckling, Hermione poked him in the ribs. "Right, Ron. And you would have done what?"  
  
Ron shrugged. "Dunno. I'm a wizard, aren't I? I could've shown them who's boss...wouldn't have dared mess with me, they wouldn't. Why didn't you, Harry? Show, them, I mean."  
  
"Because," Hermione answered before Harry could, rolling her eyes. "He didn't particularly want to get kicked out of school. 'No magic outside of school,' remember? Just because you live in a wizarding family-!"  
  
"All right, all right, Hermione." Ron was defeated. "Could've used a good curse, though, they could. Anyway, what are you gonna do now, Harry? Now that you're done with those gits?"  
  
Harry was silent for a very long moment. "I...I've never seriously thought about it," he said, finally.   
  
Ron sat up, a puzzled look on his face. "What?" He raised his eyebrows. "Harry, at the end of this year, you've got to do something. Where are you going to live?" He snapped his fingers, as if it had suddenly come to him. "You can stay with us for a bit! Mum won't mind, I know she won't. You know how much she loves you. And dad thinks it's great having you around, with all the muggle stuff you can teach him, and Fred and George..." He trailed off, watching Harry's face. "Harry, what's up? There's something you're not saying. What's bugging you?"  
  
Harry shook his head slowly, still staring up at the sky. "I can't stay with you, Ron," he said quietly. "It's not safe."   
  
"What?" Ron was at a loss. "What are you on about?"  
  
But Hermione knew. Pulling herself up off the ground, she fixed Harry with an odd stare. "Harry, you can't possibly think that you're going to leave us after school gets out, can you?" His silence was answer enough. Frightened, Hermione crawled over to where Harry sat, and bore down on him angrily. "Stupid! You're think we're any safer with you gone! It's not just you the Dark Lord's after, it's everyone! If you leave, if you go off alone, he'll just kill you quickly, and then where will we be?"  
  
Harry kept staring up at the sky. "You don't understand, Hermione," he said simply. Hermione stood up, drawing herself to her full height.  
  
"I do so understand, Harry James Potter," she said, trying to keep the fear and the frustration out of her voice. "I understand full well what you're doing. You're trying to be a hero. Trying to go down in the record books for your gallant deed." Her voice quavered. "Don't you think you're famous enough?"   
  
Of course, Hermione meant none of it. But perhaps, if she could convince him that she did, if she could guilt him into changing his mind...  
  
"Nice try, Hermione," Harry whispered. "But I know you too well."  
  
There wasn't anything Hermione could say to that. She turned on her heel and stormed back across the grass towards the school building, fear pulsing through her mind. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be. He couldn't be. He couldn't be so stupid. Right? Right?   
  
Inside the school, she pounded down the stairs to the dungeon, startling younger students and rousing odd looks from teachers and prefects. Coming to a full stop outside the door to the potions classroom, Hermione called out, her voice shrill with emotion. "Professor!"  
  
After a few seconds, the door creaked open, and there stood Professor Snape. "You're early," he said, sounding annoyed.  
  
"Teach me," Hermione said, her voice ringing and echoing in the hallway. "Teach me what I have to do."  
  
************  
  
Snape was, to say the least, quite surprised when Hermione Granger showed up outside the dungeon door thirty minutes early, looking like she was about to explode. Something made him let her in, and sit her down at a desk, rather than turn her away and tell her to come back later. He wasn't doing anything of any importance, anyway. And her eagerness to learn was a good sign, even if it was a bit startling. Perhaps he'd been dealing with those slow, thick-witted children for so long, that he was not used to those who actually cared about his classes.  
  
It was clear from her expression that there was something else that had prompted this visit, however, something that had disturbed Miss Granger a great deal. He was curious, but only for a moment. After all, it was probably only teenage angst. He scowled darkly, remembering his own teenage years, and the sort of things that went on...but that was neither here nor there.   
  
As he glanced back over at Hermione, he noticed that she seemed to have calmed down a bit. Good. He might even be able to use this little problem of hers, whatever it was, to his advantage. "Close your eyes," he instructed Hermione, walking to the front of the room as she obeyed. "Now...I noticed that, when you stomped in here like a raging dragon, there seemed to be something on your mind. What might that have been?"  
  
He didn't even need her to answer him, as long as she got her mind firmly on that thing that had irked her so much. She was facing him, with her eyes firmly shut, but he could still see the sudden twitch of her features, and how she was trying very hard to keep a straight face. Good. Good. "Of course, I'm sure it wasn't anything horribly important," he continued, intending to set the thought in her mind that yes, it was HORRIBLY important. He couldn't tell if he'd succeeded, until he suddenly felt himself lifting off the ground. Ah. Yes.   
  
"Miss Granger," he said again, softly, so as not to disturb her completely, "Open your eyes." Her eyes flew open abruptly, and Snape, flailing in a futile attempt to gain balance, went crashing to the floor. Pain coursed through his left leg as it collided with the desk, and he sucked back a curse, pulling it up towards him. He heard Hermione's gasp, and then she was standing over him, looking worried.  
  
"Professor?" She asked, eyes wide. "Are you...all right?"  
  
Snape snorted. "I'm quite fine, thank you," he said, pulling himself to his feet. "Despite your attempt at taking my life, I think I will survive." Hermione looked sheepish.  
  
"I did that?" She asked quietly, staring into his face. Snape nodded.  
  
"That you did. Do you understand what happened?"   
  
Hermione frowned. "It always happens when I'm angry," she said, more to herself than to Snape. He nodded, and then gestured her back to her seat with one hand, while brushing the dust off his robes with the other. He'd have to be a bit more careful, he decided, with a dry inward laugh.   
  
"What do you suppose that means?" He asked Hermione. "Why does it always happen when, as you say, you are angry?" Watching her face, he saw her puzzle through it, saw the minute workings of her mind turning together, and he knew when she knew the answer. She had a very expressive face, very easy to read.   
  
"Does it have to be anger that triggers it?" She asked. Snape almost smiled.   
  
"No," he said, simply. Hermione nodded slowly.   
  
"Then," she said, "Is it just strong emotions?"  
  
"Just strong emotions?" He mimicked, raising his eyebrows. "No, there's more than that." He saw Hermione blush in frustration at the tone in his voice, and made a note of that. She had always been so flustered in his class, the only class where the Professor did not fawn over how intelligent, how incredibly wonderful she was. It really had made him sick. It was good for her to get this from him. She could use it to deflate that monstrous Gryffindor ego of hers. That was the last thing she needed, now.   
  
"The trick," Snape said, leaving some of the disdain in his voice for good measure, "Is to concentrate. That's all there is." He waited for her reaction, but she just nodded, in rapt attention. "When one feels very strongly about something, one tends to have more luck concentrating on it. Therefore, when you concentrated very hard on whatever it was that was bothering you," he moved on before she could protest or interrupt, "You unconsciously lifted what was in front of you. It was your mind's reaction to the strain you were putting on it, in a way. It transferred some of the energy into whatever it was you were focusing on. Even with your eyes closed, you knew I was there, because I was speaking to you. You were facing me. When you became extremely disturbed, some of that energy transferred into me, and I lifted off the ground. Then, when you were distracted..." He waited, and then asked, "Do you understand?"  
  
Hermione sat quietly for a moment, and then nodded. "I think so. Yes. But...how does one both concentrate on something powerful, and also concentrate on what they want to lift, or move, or break at the same time? You say I only lifted you because you were speaking to me, and you were on my mind at the time. What about other things, inanimate objects and such?"   
  
"That would be the hard part," Snape replied, seating himself with one fluid motion. "What do you think?"  
  
"I honestly don't know, Professor," Hermione said.   
  
"Honestly?" Snape asked, mocking her. She looked at the floor and shuffled her feet a bit. When she was done, Snape sighed. "As I said, this would be the hard part. It requires a strength of mind that I'm not sure you have, yet. So, we're going to test you." He saw Hermione tense up, no doubt recalling the last "test" he'd given her. "Not that sort of a test," he assured her, a wry look on his face. "This time, you're in control. No potions, no helpers. I want you," and he pointed a long finger at her, "to move that." The finger swung across to gesture at the cauldron he kept by his desk. "Move it to the other side of the room."  
  
"But..." Hermione began, but stopped mid-protest, and set her jaw. Then, to Snape's surprise, she closed her eyes, and settled back in the chair. He could see an expression on her closed features, one of determination and anger that he had never before seen in her. He had no idea what she was thinking about, but he watched, and waited, and, unconsciously, held his breath.  
  
It took several minutes before he noticed anything. Then, slowly, the cauldron lifted an inch off the ground. And then another...and another...and another...CRASH! It came down with a bang, and rolled over on to its side. Hermione's eyes flew open, and she let out a long, frustrated sigh. Then, suddenly, her expression changed, and her eyes glazed over. Snape wasn't fast enough to catch her as she flopped over on the desk, already fast asleep.  
  
************  
  
Hermione awoke in the Gryffindor common room, draped across the couch, her hands pillowed comfortably under head. As she rose, she pulled them apart, and a small piece of paper fell from between her fingers. Bending to retrieve it, she discovered that, again, all traces of headache and exhaustion were gone. She felt normal again. Shaking her head, she unfolded the paper, and read the black penned scrawl.  
  
Miss Granger,  
You must work on your control.  
If you faint every lesson, we will get nothing done.  
I will see you tomorrow.  
This may help you with your search.  
-Professor Snape  
  
At the end of the frustratingly curt note, there was a list of names.  
  
Carnelian  
Rakasha  
Giova  
Hildebroth  
Grindelwald  
  
Hermione stared at them, utterly confounded. The only one she recognized was the last name, "Grindelwald." He had been a famous dark wizard, defeated by Albus Dumbledore in 1945. And Snape had written something about him 'helping her with her search.' What search? Did he mean her morning trip to the library? But how did he know? And what did these names mean?  
  
Folding up the paper, Hermione slipped it into her pocket, and extracted herself from the couch. A glance at the clock showed that it was around 4 o'clock, and her friends might still be at the lake. Then, suddenly, she remembered what had prompted her sudden departure from the lake, and swallowed hard.  
  
Unpleasant as it may have been, she needed these lessons. She needed them for Harry's sake. She needed them so that he wouldn't run away.   
  
************  
  
Harry and Ron were indeed still there when Hermione returned to the lake. None of them said anything about the previous conversation, but were instead eager to know what she'd learned about her Curse. So she told them.  
  
"I can move things," she said, frowning, "Sort of. But not very far. I can sort of lift them up, but I can't really put them anywhere, or throw them or anything. I don't know how that's useful. Snape says it takes concentration. He said something about 'strength of mind'," she said, recalling how difficult it had been to concentrate on two things at once. "I kind of have to focus on something important, something I feel strongly about. Sort of like your Patronus, Harry," she added, smiling. She did not say what it was she had focused on. "I have to keep the object, or whatever I'm working on, in the back of mind, so that I know what I'm trying to do, but I'm not really thinking about it." Sighing, she shrugged. "It's hard."  
  
"I'll bet," Ron agreed, whistling softly. "No wonder you passed out."  
  
"I'm a bit worried about that," Harry said. "You said it was dangerous, the side effects and all. If just picking something up causes you to faint, imagine what more taxing activity would do." He shook his head. "I don't like it, Hermione. I don't think you should go through with it."  
  
Hermione looked at him, straight into his face. "But I want to," she said, then shrugged and broke eye contact. "Imagine how helpful it could be. We need everything we can get, nowadays."   
  
Harry looked away. Letting out a long, frustrated sigh, Ron threw up his hands. "I'm TIRED of all this moping around. Let's go."   
  
They stood up and started across the grass towards the school. Once inside, Hermione stopped. "I'll meet you in the common room, later," she said, smiling reassuringly at their concerned expressions. "I'm going to hop over to the library and take a quick look at something."  
  
Ron looked like he was going to say something, but Harry nodded, and pulled him away. "Meet you later," he called over his shoulder as they disappeared around a corner. Hermione let out a long, pent up sigh, and then turned on her heel and headed towards the library.  
  
There were very few people there, as it was Sunday, and most students were out having fun at Hogsmeade, or playing around the campus, or on the quidditch pitch. There were a few sixth year Ravenclaw girls giggling in a corner over a worn paperback, and Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know what exactly they were reading. Retreating to the biographies, she scanned the shelves until she found what she was looking for; "A History of Grindelwald," by Thaddeus Butterhatch.   
  
Opening to the index, she slipped the folded paper out of her pocket, and settled herself in a chair for what she imagined was going to be a long afternoon.  
  
************  
  
Snape watched as Hermione sat down and unfolded the note he'd written. She had a look of extreme concentration on her face as she leafed through the pages of the large, leather-bound volume. He hadn't caught the title, but it was obvious enough that she had taken his hint.  
  
In all honesty, Snape wasn't sure why he'd given her that hint in the first place. It wasn't required that she know anything about the nature of the Curse. All she had to do was train her mind. She didn't have to know why. So why, then, had he allowed her to find what she was looking for? If anything, it would hinder her, rather than help her. It would scare her too much.   
  
Scowling, Snape shook his head. This was ridiculous. He couldn't understand himself. He almost walked over and removed the book from her hands, but knew that he couldn't, or she'd become even more curious. Perhaps she'd miss the significance of it all. Unlikely, though. Despite her numerous faults, she was an extremely bright girl. He'd said that many times to himself, assuring himself that she was bright enough to deal with the consequences of what she discovered.  
  
He knew why he'd done it, now. He'd shown her the way, because he wanted her to teach her what she mustn't do. He wanted her to convince herself that unless she was careful, she would be destroyed. He wanted her to be so scared, that she was diligent enough to make it work, so scared that she worked hard enough to succeed. It was a cruel thing to do, but necessary.  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
************  
  
Harry and Ron were just starting to worry about Hermione when she crept into the common room, white faced and shaking. Then they were immediately at her side, supporting her, helping her, afraid that she might pass out again. She shook them off, but sat down on the couch, and sank back into the cushions, staring straight ahead.  
  
"It really is a Curse," she murmured distractedly.   
  
Harry sat beside her, putting his hand over hers. "What do you mean?"  
  
His tone of voice annoyed her, it was too comforting, too sweet. She didn't need that right now. Irritated, she rose again, pacing to the front of the room and back again, waving her arms. "Grindelwald! Giova! Rakasha, Hildebroth, they're all dark wizards!" Seeing the puzzled expressions on her friend's faces, she unclenched her fist, and let the crumpled piece of paper fall to the floor. Retrieving it, she thrust it at Harry. "Look," she demanded.  
  
Harry looked. "Snape gave you this?" He asked, smoothing out the wrinkles with his forefinger. Hermione nodded. "That's why you went to the library, then." He was thinking out loud, a habit Harry had when he was confused about something. "You looked them all up?"  
  
"I did," Hermione agreed, breathing hard. "I did, and all of them, every single one of them was a dark wizard. Would you like to know why?" On her last words, she lowered her voice, so that she no longer sounded angry, but scared instead. "They all had the Curse. All of them. They all had it."   
  
Harry and Ron stared. "You mean...it's like, a dark power or something? Something in You-know-who's circle?"   
  
Hermione shook her head. "No! I mean, they were just nice, normal people, and then they discovered the Curse. That's what it did to them! It turned them dark, it turned them all...all wrong!" Her voice was slowly rising in volume, until she was almost yelling. "That's what it does! That's why it's called the Curse! Because everyone who's had it has gone dark!"  
  
There was a long silence, until Harry cut in. His tone was reasonable, coaxing. "You don't know if it happened to everyone, Hermione. You've only read about a few cases. For all you know, tons of people could have had the Curse, and only a few turned dark, just out of coincidence."  
  
"Then why doesn't anyone know anything about it? Why isn't it listed in any of the books? Why do people avoid mentioning it? Why, why, why-!"  
  
"HERMIONE!" Ron was holding her shoulders, shaking her, trying to snap her out of her hysteria. "Hermione, calm down!"   
  
Hermione could not calm down. She was scared, scared out of her mind. If she trained hard enough, and long enough, would she become one of them? Would she, instead of helping Harry, instead of saving him, would she end up hurting him? She couldn't risk that. She didn't want that. Surely, there must be some way of avoiding the Curse. She could just ignore it, avoid it, not use it, make it go away by sheer force of will.  
  
But why had Snape not told her this before? Why, now was he letting her know what she was? No, she corrected herself. There was a way out. There had to be a way out. And for all she knew, Harry could be right. But then, was Snape just trying to scare her? Or was he simply trying to show her how powerful she really could be? Had he chosen dark wizards as examples only by coincidence? Or had there been more significance to his choice? If so, then was he really on her side? They'd always suspected Snape of being a bit shady. They knew he had once been a death eater. Perhaps he still was, recruiting graduating students for his master. She wished she could read minds, could see the motives behind this little revelation.  
  
Actually, Hermione thought, she might be able to. Which could be very useful.   
  
But useful for who? For what good? For what side? For what purpose?  
  
It was too much to take in all at once. Exhausted, Hermione crumpled into the couch, tucked her knees to her chest, and let Harry and Ron convince her that it was going to be all right. 


	4. Chapter Four

Snape was not surprised that Hermione's face, when she arrived at three o'clock the next day, was closed and guarded. The small bit of trust she had imparted in him had been relinquished. Well, that was to be expected, after what he had led her to, the day before. She probably assumed he was a minion of the Dark Lord himself, the way he was trying so hard to train her. He had hoped she would understand...but then, she was only a child, after all. What could he expect?  
  
"I can't do this," she said, straight faced. It was not a complaint, and she was not whining. It was nothing like that. She was telling him, straight out, in the way he himself would have, that she was incapable of the task. She was not ashamed of it. But he could not let her give up. He had put too much hope into his little project already to allow it to fall apart so soon.  
  
"You can," he said, locking his fingers together on his lap, and watching her face. "You've already begun. Why stop now?"   
  
"You didn't tell me," she insisted, her composure beginning to crack. "You didn't tell me the truth. You told me-!"  
  
"I told you there were side effects," Snape said, cutting her off. "I told you that you had experienced some of them. I never said that there were not worse consequences."  
  
"But..." Hermione didn't know what to say. After a while, she asked, "Does it always happen that way? Do they always...go wrong?" She couldn't seem to bring herself to say what she meant. That bothered Snape. The more one avoided something, the more one feared it. She would have to come to grips with it eventually.  
  
"No," he said, and the look of incredible relief on her face almost sickened him. He was going to elaborate, but then thought better of it. He had told her enough. If he enlightened her any more, his cause was likely to be hopeless. "So," he continued, "You have a chance to take. It's up to you to decide whether or not it's worth it, whether or not you have the personal discipline to undertake it and succeed. I will not pressure you any more."  
  
That was a lie. In fact, Snape had every intention of pressuring her as much as he could, though not outright, and not obviously. He would use subtle mentle pressures, idle comments, and psychology. He was perfectly prepared...  
  
"I'm going to do it," Hermione said, startling him. "But I want you to promise me something."  
  
Ah. Well, promises were not exactly Snape's cup of tea. "And that is...?"  
  
"If I do...change, if I go over to the wrong side, if I can't do it, I want you to kill me." Hermione's expression did not change, and neither did her tone. Her mind was made up.  
  
Snape swallowed hard. He hadn't expected that sort of request. And from such a person...well, it was unusual. "I...don't believe I can do that, Miss-!"  
  
"Promise me!" Hermione was begging him with her eyes now, though her exterior remained calm. "Promise me you won't let me hurt anyone. Promise me you won't let me hurt Harry, or Ron, or..." she trailed off. "Promise me you'll kill me," she said again, "If I don't...if I don't have the 'personal discipline' that I need."  
  
Snape realized that his breathing was coming out harshly, and he made sure to control it before answering. He could agree to this. After all, if she failed, she would have to die, anyway. She'd be lost to them all if she failed. And she was only a girl, a Gryffindor girl, and a friend of the Potter boy. What difference did her life mean to him?  
  
"I will," he said. "I...promise." But he could have sworn his pulse stopped, just for a split second, as he said it.   
  
***********  
  
Hermione had spent all morning thinking about it, before she came to the conclusion that she had to go on. In all truth, she wasn't really sure why she did. It had only been two days ago that she discovered she was capable of anything more than the normal Hogwarts student, and even now she had yet to see any of these powers of hers in full blast. She knew that would take time, possibly too much time. At this point, she was of use to no one. It would not be a loss to anyone if she quit. It might be safer.  
  
And yet...somehow, she felt she had to continue, despite all of her reasoning. Because if Harry...well, if anything were to happen, anything that just maybe, just possibly, she could have prevented, or stopped, with this training and these powers and possibilities, she would never forgive herself. She would never be able to live with the fact that she had 'chickened out,' as Ron might put it.  
  
And yet...it wasn't really cowardice, was it? It would probably be safer for everyone if she gave up. She'd never risk the effects of the Curse, that way. Or would she? Would it matter? Or, perhaps, if she refused the training, would it be easier for the Curse to overtake her?  
  
In the end, she'd decided to go on with it. But only with the assurance that she wouldn't hurt anyone, and only with the knowledge that she would never have to live with herself as a dark witch. It would never be allowed to happen.  
  
That was why, standing there in front of her potions professor, Hermione asked him to kill her if she failed. She saw the expression in his eyes, the way he held himself, taut and wary.   
  
"Still," he said, his old, sarcastic tone returning, as he shook his head slightly to regain composure, "There's no need to be so melodramatic." Hermione was relieved, all the same. He'd agreed. They were all safe, for the time being.   
  
"I highly doubt that you are capable of boosting your skills to such a level that you would be capable of 'hurting' anyone," Snape continued, drumming his long fingers on the desk.   
  
"Then why are you so concerned?" Hermione asked quietly, staring at the ground.   
  
Snape scowled darkly. "What I'm concerned about is that, in your foolish, dramatic bravado, you might injure yourself before you have an opportunity to complete your lessons. I had hoped you were more intelligent than that, but..." He shot her a disdainful glance, and then looked away. "Well, I have been known to miscalculate."  
  
That didn't hurt Hermione. She knew she was doing this the right way. Didn't she?   
  
Putting that out of her mind as much as she could, for the moment, she clasped her hands behind her back, and let out a breath. "Professor," she said, trying to sound as cheerful as she could, "Shouldn't we be starting?"  
  
Snape looked at her for a moment, and then nodded, his cloak swirling around him as he turned on his heel, and headed for the far corner of the room. After a few moments, he returned with a pack of muggle playing cards. Hermione blinked. "Where did you get-!"  
  
"Nevermind that," Snape said testily, laying them on the desk in front of her. He lifted the top card, and handed it to Hermione. It was the King of Hearts. She looked at it, then raised her eyes to meet Snape's. He snatched the card back from her hand, and placed it on the top of the deck. Gesturing for her to sit, he picked up the cards, and shuffled them expertly three times, before setting them down again. "You remember which card it was?" He asked.  
  
Hermione had the sudden urge to giggle, being strongly reminded of the card tricks her older cousin used to play. Stifling it, she nodded, and Snape walked over to his own desk, seating himself at it, and leaning forward to watch her. "I want you," he said, "To move that card from wherever it is, back to the top of the deck. With your mind," he added, as if Hermione didn't know what he was talking about.  
  
Irritated that he was treating her with such condescension, Hermione shut her eyes tightly, and leaned back in her seat. Purposefully, she drew her mind back to her morning's contemplation, being careful to keep the card trick she was trying to perform in the back of her troubled mind. She remembered the shock of discovering the Curse in Grindelwald's biography the day before, remembered the panic she'd felt, the horror, the frustration when she'd read on, in different books, under more names. She thought about herself, unable to control her powers, unable to stop herself from destroying those she loved. She thought about Harry and Ron, who she'd loved and trusted for so long, going up in a puff of smoke in front of her. And all the while, as she tormented herself, the King of Hearts flipped back and forth, just out of reach of her conscious thought, out of the deck, and back into it.   
  
After a while, Hermione realized that there were tears in her eyes, and was unable to hold her concentration, as she sobbed into her hands, forgetting, for the moment, about everything else except the desperation, and the frustration, and the anger she had felt as she let the worst possible outcomes run through her mind. A hand came down on her shoulder, and she tensed, looking up into Severus Snape's intense black eyes.   
  
"Miss Granger," he said softly, and gestured at the desk with his other hand. Blinking tears out of her eyes, she squinted down at it. The King of Hearts lay face up on the top of the deck, perfectly aligned with the other cards, as if placed there by a careful hand.   
  
Suddenly, the exhaustion kicked in, and Hermione's world went black.   
  
*************  
  
Snape caught Hermione this time, as she keeled over sideways in her chair. He supported her, looking at her tearstained, woe-beaten face for moment, before placing her back in the chair.   
  
He'd noticed once before that Hermione Granger had an incredibly expressive face, but today, when she'd been playing with the cards, that observation had taken on an entirely new meaning. He had felt like he was living through her pain, just by looking at her face, at the anguish and the remorse. He had no doubt what it was she was thinking of, this time. At one point, she had even cried out Harry's name. It was all too obvious that her painful fantasies had been all too real for her, real enough that she had flawlessly performed the task he had requested of her without even realizing it.  
  
She was a brilliant girl. Her mental images must have been incredibly vivid, to illicit that sort of a response. And that was exactly what she needed to succeed. That, and deep concentration, which she had just shown.   
  
However, if this sort of thing happened too often, it might kill her. Could Snape teach her to dull her images just enough so that it didn't hurt her so much? Or would that also dull the effect of her powers? He didn't know. He'd never seen anything quite like this before. He'd seen others with the Curse...granted, he hadn't tutored them, but he'd seen them, and he'd never seen this sort of a reaction in them.  
  
Hermione stirred against the chair, and he bent down towards her, anxious despite himself. Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him, then groaned and looked away. Straightening, Snape felt a pang of...a pang of something. He couldn't quite tell what, and quickly dismissed it from his mind. Schooling his expression, he regained his stern composure.  
  
"How do you feel?" He asked quietly. Hermione sat straight for a moment, her back to him, and then, with a gasp, curled up into a ball, tucking her knees to her chest, and clasping her arms around them. Apparently, Snape thought, her memory had returned.  
  
"I did it...didn't I?" Hermione asked, and Snape nodded, walking around to her other side, so that he could be facing her.   
  
"You did. You did it quite well." As Snape spoke, Hermione's shoulders straightened, and she looked up at him.  
  
"I want to try again," she said firmly. "Something harder."   
  
It was all Snape could do not to gawp at her. After a moment, he was able to speak. "No," he said, "I think not. Today's lesson is over. You may return to your friends. Actually," he added, stepping towards the door. "I think I'd best accompany you on the way to your common room, lest you collapse again. Come."   
  
Hermione's eyes widened, and her face became desperate. "But-!"  
  
"Tomorrow," Snape interrupted before she could finish her protest, "We will try something different. However, Miss Granger, if you try anything else today, I cannot be responsible for the consequences." Then, in an oddly gentler tone, "You've done enough. Come. I'm sure Potter and Weasley are waiting."  
  
Oddly, Hermione seemed reluctant as they exited the dungeon and climbed the stairs. She didn't say anything for a long time. When she finally spoke, they were halfway down the corridor, nearing the Gryffindor common room.  
  
"Will it always feel like that?" She asked, her voice almost a whisper. Snape shook his head.  
  
"I don't know," he said, keeping his voice level. "I don't know how you felt." But he did. He knew all too well. "It might. You still have the option of quitting, if you like."  
  
"I won't," Hermione replied, too quickly. Snape cringed inwardly, but nodded, and said nothing more. Neither did Hermione.  
  
*************  
  
Hermione was feeling a bit better by dinnertime. The physical effects of her day's lesson had worn off, but the mental ones still lingered, and her mind kept drifting to those images of Harry and Ron, and all her friends, suffering before her. Practicing some of that necessary discipline, she avoided those thoughts, and pushed them into a far corner of her conscious mind.   
  
"Hermione, you aren't eating," Harry, spooning soup into his mouth as he spoke.  
  
"Mmmmf mrrrgle mmmmp mmulla mmmmmmm," Ron said around his mouthful of food.  
  
"What?" Harry asked, distracted, giving Ron an odd look. Ron swallowed, took a sip of water, and then grinned.  
  
"I said," he replied, "Don't talk with your mouth full, Harry. Anyway, Hermione, he's right. What's up? You've been depressed all day."  
  
Harry shot Ron another meaningful look, and Ron's mouth formed a small 'o' of sudden understanding. "Oops," he muttered under his breath, cringing.  
  
Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Oh, Harry," she muttered. "You don't have to act like I'm going to explode any minute! I'm fine. I'm fine! I'm not worried about...well, what I read the other day. It's been solved."  
  
"It has?" Harry looked excited. "How?"  
  
"Snape...taught me something," Hermione lied, pushing her peas around on her plate. "Something that will prevent me from having that sort of...that sort of change. So you don't have to worry about it any more." Who was she trying to convince, she wondered? Harry, or herself?  
  
"Oh GOOD," Ron said, beaming.   
  
"But," Harry added, looking skeptically, "If that's all settled, what have you been on about all afternoon? Something's still bothering you, Hermione."  
  
"You can tell us, you know," Ron said, apparently trying to sound sincere, while gravy dribbled down his chin. "You can trust us."  
  
"I know I can," Hermione said, just as sincerely. "I know I can. And I do." She didn't say any more than that, and Ron and Harry didn't push her, although Ron looked a little bit hurt.  
  
Oh Ron, thought Hermione, if only you knew. If I told you what I'd felt today, you wouldn't understand. I'm not even sure how to describe it...it was so much pain...I'm not sure if I'll be able to take much more of it. But it worked, didn't it? It worked. I did it. I moved the card. And tomorrow, I'll move something larger. And then, later, I'll learn how to throw objects without touching them, and then how to cast spells without a wand, and soon enough, I'll be able to help you, and Harry won't have to run away, and we can defeat the Dark Lord, and everyone will be safe again.  
  
Unless I fail in my training...and then I'll just be one more menace to deal with.   
  
Somewhere down the hall, the sound of a window shattering could be heard. Hermione felt stupid. She couldn't even control herself, now. What would happen when she got stronger? Surely, it would be more than just windows breaking. Looking up, she met Snape's eyes at the teacher's table, and then quickly looked away again, back at her food.   
  
Harry caught the exchange, and grasped Hermione's hand. "Is it Snape?" He asked.  
  
"What?" Hermione, caught off guard, stared at him. "Is what Snape?"  
  
"Is that what's bothering you?" Harry clarified, jerking his head in the direction of the teacher's table. "What's he done?"  
  
"I knew we couldn't trust him," Ron added, leaning over towards her. "Tell us, Hermione, what's-!"  
  
"It's not Snape!" Hermione had to lower her voice as her too friends hushed her violently, looking around as faces turned towards them. "That's not it," she said, more quietly. "He hasn't done anything, it's just...I'm tired. That's all. It's been a long day, and...I passed out again, earlier. I'm still tired from it. I'm fine, really, I am."  
  
Though he didn't look convinced, Harry knew when to let it go. After an audible kick under the table, Ron, too, stopped asking questions, and Hermione resumed her silence, picking at her plate, avoiding the faces of her two best friends. She wanted to tell them. She wanted to tell them everything. She wanted to be able to talk to them, to be able to spill out all the anxious, frustrated emotions bottled up inside her, but she couldn't. If she did tell them, if they knew her reasons, they'd make her stop. If they knew what she'd felt through that horror session, trapped in her own ominous thoughts, they'd insist that she end the training, and she couldn't. She couldn't, for so many reasons. She didn't need to convince herself anymore, she knew.   
  
"I'm going to go up to bed," Hermione said, suddenly standing up and pushing in her chair. "I'm so tired..."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, nodding, "Sounds good. You look like you need some rest."  
  
"We'll come by the door and say goodnight," Ron added, grinning cheerfully at her. "Sleep tight!"  
  
I don't want to hurt you, Hermione thought. I love you both so much. I don't want either of you to be hurt.   
  
But she didn't say that. "Goodnight, Harry," was all she said. "Goodnight, Ron."  
  
Hermione did not, in fact, go directly to bed, but sat by the fire in the common room for a long while, just thinking. She fell asleep on the couch, warmed by the flames, and dreamt restless, uneasy dreams.   
  
************  
  
Locked in his office, Snape clutched at his arm, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he backed himself against the wall. The pain seared through him, through his blood, and into his brain. The voices would not stop...  
  
Severus Snape, they called. Severus Snape, it is time.  
  
"No," he breathed, shaking his head, causing more jolts of pain even as he did so. "No."  
  
Severus Snape, they called. And now it was one voice, one strong, commanding, dangerous voice, a voice he knew all too well. Severus Snape, come to me. You must come to me.  
  
Snape struggled, but found himself riveted to the spot in terror and anguish, and pain, still so much pain. "Won't," he struggled to say, as loud as he could, as firmly as he could. "No, no!"  
  
Severus Snape, he called. It is time. Come to me. You must come to me. Come to me. Come to me...  
  
"SEVERUS!" Another voice now, calling for him. Snape, suddenly released, fell forward to the floor, gasping and sucking air in, crawling on hands and knees over to his desk, and grabbing the leg for support.   
  
"No, no, no," he kept saying, over and over again. He would not go. HE could not make him go. HE would have to stay away...Snape was safe here, safe here, safe here...  
  
"Severus." A hand closed on his shoulder, and Snape jerked upwards, staring up into the peaceful face of Albus Dumbledore. A deep sigh escaped him, and his body sagged backward against the desk.   
  
"It is over," Dumbledore said, and it was true. Shakily, Snape struggled to his feet, clutching at furniture on his way up, until he stood straight again, attempting to regain his composure.   
  
"I'm sorry," he said, schooling his expression. "I did not mean to disturb you."  
  
Dumbledore chuckled dryly. "My dear Professor Snape," he said quietly, "I do not believe what you just...ah, experienced calls for any sort of apology. In any case, you are forgiven for the disturbance." Glancing around the office, Dumbledore let out a sigh, not too different from the one Snape had uttered only a minute ago.  
  
"No," he said, shaking his head, "I believe it is my job to say that I'm sorry."  
  
Snape blinked. "Headmaster," he began, "I don't think-!"  
  
"Oh, but I do," Dumbledore interrupted gently, "Enough for both of us." His face was troubled now, an expression he rarely showed his students. "We both know that the time is coming, and I've been putting a great deal of pressure on you lately. You shouldn't be expected, now, of all times, to teach all of your classes, help organize the resistance, and train Hermione Granger as well."  
  
"You know about that?" Snape was startled. But, he thought, he probably shouldn't be. There were many things that Albus Dumbledore knew that he tended to keep to himself.   
  
Dumbledore nodded, still looking thoughtful. "Oh yes, yes. I've suspected for a long time that she might be Cursed. Of course, I've always hoped that I was wrong...but then, perhaps I'm just being a worry-wart." The childish term caused Snape to scowl, but Dumbledore apparently didn't notice.   
  
"You've known?" Snape was getting quite agitated. "And why did you never say anything?"  
  
Dumbledore turned his gaze to Snape, now, and smiled quietly. "I was waiting for you to notice," he said mildly. Snape controlled his anger. "And you did. Oh, I knew you would, in the end. And not a moment too soon, I might add. Perfect timing, actually. I think she'll make quite a rewarding student."  
  
"She does," Snape agreed, shaking his head. "She's too much of a natural, actually." Snape's frown deepened. "I worry that she'll hurt herself. Or worse." The beginning of that day's lesson was still bothering him. "She...she asked me something," he confessed, unsure why he was doing it. "She told me to kill her if she was unable to fight the darker forces. She knew she would have to fight the urge to gain the darker side of her powers."  
  
"You told her?" Dumbledore asked, neither voice nor expression changing.   
  
Snape nodded. "I did. I wanted to see if she was ready to deal with it. I wanted her to know what she'd be up against. I didn't want to keep her in the dark. I wanted..."  
  
"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Severus," Dumbledore said, clapping the man on the shoulder, and making him wince. The pain was ebbing significantly, but his whole body was beginning to ache dully. "Ah, I'm sorry," the Headmaster said contritely.   
  
"Don't be," Snape replied, a bit more tersely than he'd intended. "I don't need your pity, Albus."  
  
Dumbledore said nothing, but just looked out the window at the night sky. After a while, he turned around, and bid Snape good night, before leaving the room. Then, Snape was alone with his dark thoughts and throbbing arm. 


	5. Chapter Five

Time passed slowly through Hermione, all through autumn. The leaves turned red and gold, and then browned, falling to the ground and crunching beneath the feet of the eager first and second years that ran across the grounds to Hagrid's Hut for their Care of Magical Creatures lessons. All the while, Hermione's life passed almost as it always had, with her erratic schedule and lack of sleep unchanged, despite the pleas of Harry and Ron. In all honesty, she didn't care as much about it all as she'd used to, but she couldn't let them know that. She'd begun to live for those afternoon sessions with Professor Snape, getting stronger every day, and more powerful. The depression she'd originally experienced had been tempered slightly, or perhaps she'd just gotten used to it, but it wasn't nearly as painful as it had been a month and a half ago, when she'd tried the card trick for the first time.   
  
So when, one afternoon in early December, she entered the potions dungeon to find Snape absent, Hermione was, needless to say, a bit disturbed. He'd never been late. "Late" was simply not a word in Severus Snape's vocabulary. Still, Hermione thought, there was a first time for everything, and there was no doubt a good excuse. So she waited.   
  
After what she estimated to be about ten minutes, Hermione began to really worry. Where was he? Had he forgotten, heaven forbid? Had he simply gotten caught up somewhere? Or worse, had she proven herself such a horrible student that he'd given up on her? Hermione stewed helplessly, unaware that she was pacing back and forth, washing her hands together. He would come. He had to come. She had to know more. She had to finish what she'd started. He would come.  
  
But he didn't. And after another something-like-ten-minutes, Hermione left the room, and climbed the stairs towards Snape's office. She knew that she probably shouldn't bother him, especially if he'd found her lacking enough to simply not show up for a lesson, but she had to know, she had to find out what had gone wrong. Striding quickly, she reached the office in very little time, and raised her hand, hesitantly rapping on the door.  
  
No response.  
  
Hermione tried again, louder, and again met with no result. Unable to restrain herself, she pushed the door open, slightly, and peered into the office.   
  
Snape was lying in the middle of the floor, limbs spread out around him, motionless. Suppressing a gasp, Hermione flung the door wider, and stepped in, dropping to her knees beside her teacher, and feeling for his pulse with one hand. There it was, strong and steady. Looking around the room, Hermione could find nothing indicating a struggle, or a fight. He had just collapsed, then, out of nowhere? She couldn't feel any sort of spell.   
  
"Professor," she murmured, shaking his shoulders slightly, and bracing herself for his wrath when he woke up and discovered her over him. He didn't wake. She shook harder. "ProFESSOR!" Still, nothing.  
  
Frustrated, Hermione sat, confused and slightly frantic. The logical side of her mind reasoned that somehow, he had to get to the hospital wing. It was quite obvious that she couldn't lift him, him being about a foot and a half taller than her, and besides, it would look awfully strange walking down the hall carrying the potions professor. Briefly, Hermione wondered why on earth she cared what it would look like, but she had little time for such speculation. Then, suddenly, she had it.   
  
Backing up in to the corner of the room, Hermione seated herself cross-legged on the floor, and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She began to think of what it would mean should her afternoon sessions come to an end. She was too far now to stop so suddenly. She wouldn't be able to accomplish her goal, nor would she be able to control herself if the effects of the Curse did come in to play. She thought about Harry and Ron, and she thought, very, very lightly, about Professor Severus Snape, lying on the ground in front of her. She thought about the Dark Lord, and the end of the world that she had discovered only seven years ago. She thought of being alienated from all her friends, or worse, having them hate her, turn against her, become her enemies. She thought about her parents, and her cousins, and aunt Lisa, and uncles Carey and Jake. She thought, in the back of her mind, about her potions professor leaving the room, and drifting down the stairs. She thought about then end, the same way she thought about it every time, just to get a rise out of herself.  
  
When it was over, there were, as per usual, tears in her eyes. Hermione had learned to disregard the tears. Her head spun, but she firmly controlled herself, willing herself to stand straight, and walk down the hall towards the hospital wing. When she got there, it was a great relief to see Snape draped across the cot, one arm hanging limply over his side. As she watched, his eyes flickered open, and he blinked once, before raising her eyebrows.  
  
"Well, Miss Granger," he managed. "I think we're about ready to move on with your training."  
  
Hermione wanted to smile, but she was too tired. Instead, she flopped into a chair, and closed her eyes.   
  
"All right," she replied. Snape did not volunteer the reason for his former position, so Hermione did not ask.   
  
************  
  
"Pass the pancakes, will you, Hermione?" Neville Longbottom asked from across the table. Hermione blinked. The pancakes in question were about three inches from his hand, and about a foot from her. Quirking an eyebrow, she reached over the table and nudged them an inch closer. Neville blushed, and looked at his plate.  
  
Ron chuckled, and poked Harry in the ribs. "You think today's the day?" he asked cryptically. Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
"No, I don't," he replied, forking some eggs into his mouth. "He's been threatening for weeks."  
  
"Don't think threatening's the word," Ron said, grinning widely. "Eh, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. The two of them had been on like this ever since they'd greeted her in the common room that morning. "What are you two grinning idiots on about?" she asked, as she had several times already. Harry and Ron just looked at each other, and made useless attempts to hide their growing mirth. Hermione sighed.  
  
"Hermione?" Neville asked again.   
  
"Yes?" Hermione responded absently. "Check if you can reach whatever it is before you ask, will you?"  
  
Neville didn't say anything for a moment, and then shook his head. "Nevermind." Then, a few moments later, "Ah, Hermione?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"...Sorry, nothing."  
  
Leaning forward, Hermione gave Neville a long, searching long. He was as red as a beet, staring down at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever come across. Hermione blinked. "Neville, is everything all right? You seem...flustered." That was a rather pointless question, she thought belatedly. Neville was always worried about something. But it was polite to ask.  
  
"Hermione, can't you see? He's-!" Ron never got to finish his sentence, as Harry clamped a hand over his mouth before he could. Ron struggled ineffectually for a bit, and then gave up. After a few seconds, Harry let go, and Ron glared at him.  
  
"All right, I get the point. But if he doesn't say something soon..." Ron trailed off suggestively.   
  
Neville looked like he wanted to crawl away. Hermione, giving up, devoted herself to finishing her breakfast. She was still exhausted from the night before. Bad dreams were starting to be a nightly occurrence. It was awful, the kind of things she saw in her sleep. During her afternoon classes with Snape, she could imagine all sorts of horrible things, lost in her concentrated trance. But at night, it all seemed so much more real, and there wasn't anyone there to snap her out of it if she started to cry.  
  
"Hullo, Hermione?" Ron was waving a hand in front of her face, forcing her out of her reverie.   
  
"What?" she asked, a bit more testily than she'd intended.  
  
"What do you say?" Ron asked, sounding impatient.  
  
"To what?"  
  
Ron rolled his eyes, and clapped a hand dramatically to his forehead. "To what? Are you saying that you zoned out at the exact moment that Neville-!"  
  
"Hermione," Neville interrupted, rather loudly, "Will you go t-t-to Hogsmeade with me for dinner tonight?"  
  
Hermione gaped. Ron looked frankly impressed. Harry just shook his head and smiled.  
  
"Ah, that is..." Neville's face was beginning to look as if it might explode. "If...you're not busy, or anything."  
  
Hermione blinked, once, twice, three times. "Ah...sure, Neville, why...not?"   
  
The people around her went momentarily silent. Apparently, that wasn't the answer they'd expected.  
  
"Bloody hell," Ron murmured. "The crazy git did it."  
  
Neville stood up quickly from the table. "I've, uh, got to go, though. See you later. Goodbye!" As fast as his stubby legs could carry him, Neville scuttled away, leaving Hermione in a state of bemusement.  
  
"Well," Ron said, leaning his elbow on the table and smirking at her. "That went well."  
  
"He's been threatening to ask for ages," Harry added, rolling his eyes and jerking his head in the direction that Neville had retreated in.   
  
"Didn't think you'd actually agree to it, though." Raising one eyebrow, Ron looked at her searchingly. "Can't say I every suspected that you had a thing for Longbottom."  
  
Hermione was flustered. "Don't be ridiculous, Ron. I couldn't just say 'no,' could I? Imagine how horrible poor Neville would feel!"  
  
"He'd get over it," Ron decided.   
  
Harry gave Ron a disapproving look. "Hermione's right. It'd be really hard for Neville if she turned him down. He's never had a steady girlfriend, remember? This must be a big thing for him."  
  
That seemed to end the conversation, and the meal. Rising from their seats, the trio of Gryffindors headed off to the common room. Hermione couldn't help feeling her spirits lift a little bit. Now, she had something to look forward to. Neville wasn't at all a bad person, and she was fond of him...granted, not in the way he apparently hoped she was. That bothered her a bit. She felt like she might be leading him on. But then, there was no harm in just one try.   
  
Humming a little tune, Hermione stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.  
  
"Cucumber," she stated clearly, and it swung open to admit her.  
  
*************  
  
When Hermione arrived in the dungeon at three o'clock, Snape immediately noticed a change of attitude in her. She was, for one thing, humming.  
  
"Ah, Miss Granger," he said, trying to ignore the rather irritating little tune, "I believe I told you we were going to start something new, today."  
  
"Yes, sir." She was cheerful, smiling, even. He felt himself tempted to smile back, and promptly squelched the urge, resettling his psyche back to where it belonged.   
  
"You've mastered, basically, the movement of objects from place to place." He began to pace back and forth as he spoke, unconsciously releasing his nervous energy in the action. "Today, we're going to try transferring objects from place to place...instanteously."   
  
Hermione looked puzzled. "You mean...like, teleportation?"  
  
"More or less." Snape shrugged. He stopped pacing, and stepped forward towards the desk where Hermione had seated herself, as per usual. "I think, despite the undeniable progress you have made, we're going too slowly. We don't have enough time. Therefore," and he sighed resignedly. "I am going to sacrifice my health and welfare, no doubt, and allow you to attempt to transport me from the next room, back into this one."  
  
Hermione blinked. "But...Professor, I've never tried moving a human before. Except for...that once." She blushed slightly.  
  
Snape snorted. "Yes, well, what does that have to do with anything? It's time to try. No more excuses." And with that, he swept himself out of the room and into the next, seated himself cross-legged on the floor, and arranging his robes around him. He let out a breath, preparing himself to bump headlong into a wall, or to disappear and end up somewhere entirely embarrassing and out of the ordinary. No doubt, on her first try, Miss Granger would manage to put him in some position that he would have trouble getting out of. The girls' toilet was a likely spot. Scowling, he leaned back, and waited.  
  
Nothing happened for several minutes. A bit irritated, Snape rose, and returned to the dungeon in which Hermione sat, perfectly still in her chair.   
  
"Well?" He asked, apparently startling her and snapping her out of her thoughts.   
  
"I...I'm sorry," she stammered, sounding flustered. "I just...I can't seem to concentrate."  
  
"Well, try again," he snapped. "We've only got a bit of time, and I'm growing gray hairs." He watched her suppress a giggle at that expression, and rolled his eyes. "Get to work," he ordered with a sigh, and walked back into the other room.  
  
*************  
  
Hermione knew she could do this. Since Snape hadn't given her any other instructions, she assumed that teleportation required exactly the same thing as telekinesis. All she had to do was concentrate.   
  
And yet, she couldn't. As she dutifully closed her eyes and settled herself back in the chair, she found her mind wandering in all sorts of directions. Willing herself to stay on task, she began to take her daily dive into the possibilities of the future, the horrors that were to come, the pain, the suffering, the terror she could inflict on others.  
  
Still, through all that horror, she was torn. She couldn't take it seriously, couldn't keep her mind on it, couldn't stay on track. Neville's blushing, stammering face kept appearing, as he asked her, over and over through her mind, to go to Hogsmeade with him. Hermione had not been on a date since she'd gone with Dean Thomas to a quidditch game over the summer. That, of course, hadn't been particularly successful, and the two of them had never really hit it off. It had been in her sixth year...  
  
No. No, she couldn't think about that. There was pain. There was pain. She forced herself, though reluctantly, to concentrate on the pain. Yet...  
  
Dean had been the first since Viktor Krum, in fourth year. She remembered the summer she'd gone to visit him in Bulgaria. Her mother hadn't been too thrilled about the whole thing, but somehow Hermione had convinced her. It had been wonderful. Hermione had never been out of the country before, and had never had an experience quite like the one that Bulgaria brought. Viktor had been so kind to her. What had gone wrong, she wondered?  
  
If Hermione wasn't careful, she might actually fulfill that hateful prophecy that she'd been living every afternoon, in this stinking room. She had to pay attention! Death. Suffering. Pain. Anguish. Blood. Burning. Her, at the midst of it all...  
  
Like she had been that time at the quidditch stadium with Dean, when the home team had scored, and the little man in front of them had become so excited that he squeaked and fell forward three rows, on top of some poor woman, who fainted on the spot. Dean had thought it extremely funny. His laughter was contagious. Just thinking about it, Hermione startled to giggle.  
  
"Miss Granger." Snape's voice was cold. Spinning around in her seat, Hermione met the eyes of her potions professor, standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.  
  
"Miss Granger," he said again, "I see you find something funny. Please, enlighten me, because I find nothing funny at all about this particular situation."  
  
Hermione swallowed hard. "I...I'm sorry, Professor, I just...I can't...I can't keep my thoughts straight."  
  
"Clearly." Snape just stood there and looked at her for a long time. She began to fidget nervously in her chair.   
  
"Shall I...try again?" she asked hesitantly. After a moment, Snape shook his head.  
  
"No," he said, shortly. Then, "Obviously, we aren't going to get anything accomplished today. You are dismissed."  
  
"But-!" Hermione began to protest, but Snape cut her off.  
  
"You are," he said deliberately, "Dismissed. Return to your friends. We will try again tomorrow."  
  
Without saying anything else, Hermione rose, and vacated the room. She was furious with herself as she climbed the stairs, berating herself for not having the discipline to concentrate.  
  
And if she didn't have the discipline for that, how could she possibly have the discipline to fight the darkness when it came?  
  
It was a shame, now, that the gloom fell back upon her. If only she'd managed to maintain it in the classroom. Now, it was the last thing she needed.  
  
************  
  
As it was the first time in quite a while that she'd gone anywhere with a boy other than Harry and Ron, Hermione had dressed up a bit for the occasion. She was wearing the purple dress with the tiered skirts, the one she'd bought for her uncle's wedding last year. She'd straightened her hair the old fashioned way, remembering the disaster that had occurred when Ginny had tried to do it once before, with a spell. When she'd decided she was as presentable as could be, she'd set out.  
  
She and Neville had agreed to meet at Clytemnestra's Kitchen, a little restaurant behind the Three Broomsticks. She'd never eaten there before, and neither had he, although Ron assured her that the food was 'bloody great stuff.' Neville claimed it to be Italian, but the only Italian item Hermione found on the menu was a plate of spaghetti with meat sauce. Everything else was the greasy, half-hearted cooking of a fast food chain, like the muggle McDonalds near her house. Mildly put off by this, Hermione ordered the spaghetti, and settled in to wait for her date.  
  
When, however, he hadn't shown after a half an hour, Hermione began to worry. Neville was not known for his incredible timing, and yet...she thought perhaps, from the way Harry and Ron had been babbling, that this meant more to him. It was frustrating to be sitting here alone, in a restaurant that was far from what she'd been hoping for, begging that Neville Longbottom hadn't simply forgotten to show up. After another twenty minutes, Hermione assumed that he probably had.  
  
She felt like crying. All day, she'd been looking forward to her little evening excursion, enough so that it had distracted her from the most important endeavor of her year, causing Snape to become furious with her, and herself to lose a valuable lesson to her daydreams. And now, after all of that wasted, she'd been stood up. She shouldn't be angry with him, she thought. She was sure he hadn't ignored the date on purpose, seeming as he'd been so excited when she agreed to go with him. And yet...couldn't he have tried a little harder? Just a little?  
  
Putting her head down on the table, next to her half-finished plate of sodden spaghetti, Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes. She wanted to start the day over, from the beginning, from the point she'd agreed to coming here. She wanted to go back, and arrange someone to remind Neville. She wanted to start her lesson again, she wanted to force herself to concentrate, she wanted to see the look of approval on Snape's face, and she wanted to hear him tell her that she was, of course, 'a very bright girl,' and she wanted...  
  
"Well, well, look what I've found." Hermione's head snapped up again at the sound of the voice, to see the very object of her previous thought sitting at the table across from her, delicate hands folded together on the table, black eyes staring unblinkingly at her. "Not exactly the sort of place or time I'd imagine to find you eating alone, Miss Granger. Where's our little celebrity and his groupies?"  
  
Hermione was not in the mood for this at all. "Shut up," she said, not caring a whit that she could probably get expelled for that. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he looked like he was going to reprimand her, or simply get up and leave, undoubtedly to go back to the school and report her for her insolence. Instead, however, he smoothed his features out with an obvious effort, and dropped his hands into his lap, leaning closer, and peering into her face. A bit nervous, not quite expecting that reaction, Hermione shuffled her feet around on the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, finally, looking away. "I'm having a trying day."  
  
"No doubt," Snape agreed. "I take it Mr. Longbottom has yet to arrive for your...ah, evening plans?" Hermione's eyes met his again, but his face was still unreadable.  
  
"How did you know?" She asked, not really caring. It would take a lot for him to surprise her at this point.  
  
Snape shrugged. "The students have talked of nothing else all day, especially Mr. Malfoy." Hermione cringed at that, and Snape chuckled darkly. "I'm sure that he is confused as to why on earth Longbottom can get a date when he can't seem to."  
  
Snape snorted derisively, and Hermione laughed. "I believe I owe you an apology," he said suddenly, a bit more loudly than he usually tended to. Hermione blinked. "I've been pushing you extremely hard lately. I am aware that children of your age do need a break every now and then, and no doubt today's catastrophe was nothing more than your body's reaction to all the stress you've been receiving. You could not have concentrated in the correct manner if you'd wanted to."  
  
Hermione bristled. "But I did want to! And I'm not a child." She was so tired of being treated like a little girl.   
  
"Again," Snape said, more quietly, "My apologies. I meant, perhaps, that you were a child in comparison to myself."  
  
There was a long silence after that. Hermione pushed her food aimlessly around on her plate. "Well, there's no point in me sticking around here," she said finally, needing something to fill the uncomfortable void. "I severely doubt that Neville's showing up.  
  
"Indeed," Snape murmured, also rising, and pushing in his chair. "However, I must express a desire that you return to school before curfew, or I will have to set aside my sympathy and give you detention."  
  
Hermione snorted. "What are you, my father?"  
  
"No," Snape said quietly. "No, not at all."   
  
They stood for another moment, and then Snape nodded politely, and swept past Hermione, his cloak brushing her arm.  
  
She shivered, and after a suitable interval, vacated the restaurant. 


End file.
